Page 27 of Whirlwind

“This is how I want to fuck you, Violet. This is how.” I plunged deep and my teeth nipped at her bottom lip. “This—right—here.” My hips hit her at another angle, and that squeak stole from her lips.

The urge to discover every secret pulse point on Violet’s decadent body overwhelmed me. I wanted a response from every touch, every thrust, lick, every bite. A need, a mission.

Her fingernails dug into my skin, her pelvis twisted, grinding slowly against mine, her walls tightening around my dick. She raised her head up off the bed and met my hard gaze. “I stand fucking corrected.”

11

Beck

My eyelids peeled open.Closed. Open. Blurry blips finally cleared. I blinked, rubbed my eyes. The carpet. Ripped condom wrappers littered the carpet. One, two, three. Four. Five.

“Hmm.” I turned over, grinning into my pillow. I wanted Violet now. Again. My dick was hard as a fucking rock for her. Soreness rippled through my muscles as I stretched out on my bed, my arm reaching for her—

A cold, rumpled sheet. The stiff, lifeless mattress. I pushed up. “Violet?” Nothing. “Violet?” I said again, louder.

Silence.

I got out of bed and stalked to the light-filled front hall. My clothes were folded in perfect squares and piled on the bench. My jacket hung on the coat tree. At its side, my boots stood alone. Violet’s clothes and jacket, those boots, were gone.

Well, there I’d been worried in the back of my mind that this might be a huge mistake, full of awkward morning after crap.

I caught my reflection in the mirror over the bench. My hair stood on end. My fingers traced over the bite marks Violet had left behind on my right pec, the base of my throat. The swelling purple blue of my cheek and the cut under my eye only added to the punk rock morning after vibe. I rolled my eyes at myself as I tugged my fingers through my hair. My head throbbed and my balls ached as the rest of my body remembered last night. Remembered Violet.

In between fucking, we’d gotten ourselves water, another time whiskey. On that occasion we didn’t make it out of the living room. I could still feel the dribble of wet over my abs, my dick, the fiery trail of her lips swirling over my flesh, lighting me on fire all over again.

We each took sips, and then I’d poured the whiskey over her tits and sucked and licked until her nipples were hard pebbles. I’d taken a breast in my mouth, and she’d squirmed against me, riding my thigh, getting herself off. Hugest turn on of my life.

Violet in those fucking boots. Violet chasing her high with me.

Fumes of whiskey, sex, and sweat fueled us. Somewhere along the line we’d stopped, laughing at our eagerness, our exhaustion. Then I’d bit her ass, my mouth nestling in between her plush cheeks, and she moaned loudly, her ass lifting higher for me. My fingers slid inside the pussy I now knew intimately, my tongue nudging her hole. She rode my fingers, rode my mouth. Before she could come I raised her ass higher and thrust my cock inside her slick cunt.

After, we were no longer able to move a muscle, think, form words. The two of us were a gluey, gooey, fantastic mess.

My cock twitched with heaviness at the memory.Down boy.I headed for the kitchen and grabbed a glass and filled it from the faucet, too lazy to go to the fridge for the filtered water. Another glass stood in the sink. She’d been here before she’d left. I drank more and put my glass next to hers. We’d had fun, and not just the sex. We’d talked, really talked. Laughed.

She hadn’t asked me about Mae. Not one word. I knew she knew, didn’t everyone? After the world had pummeled me with questions and demanded answers, dished out sly looks and facetious comments, it was a huge relief. I’d felt safe. At ease with her. She got it, she’d just been through a breakup too, right?

I shuttered my eyes against the morning light blazing in the kitchen, and my gaze landed on the table. My notebook lay there.

I let out a heavy breath.

The fragment of the song I’d been working on since I got here a week ago. An eternity for me. I’d gotten so angry at myself last night, I’d thrown the notebook across the room and cursed at it, cursed at myself, and just then Wes had called me, confirming the time and place of our night out.

I hadn’t wanted to go out when he’d first called me earlier in the day, but it was then I’d realized, why the hell not. I was sick of myself. I’d taken a shower, gotten dressed, and rode my bike around Meager for over an hour letting off steam, and finally went to the Tingle to meet him in the parking lot.

I slid the notebook toward me across the table, and my teeth dragged along my bottom lip. Last night, I’d left the damn notebook on the floor where it had landed. But here it was on the table. Open.

I scanned the familiar verses, the fragments.

Spinning, spinning

Are you winning?

Nothing but bitter

Bitter

You walk away

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